


Closer (The Spaces Between Us Remix)

by msermesth



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 3490
Genre: F/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Titanic References, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-02 02:41:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17879546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msermesth/pseuds/msermesth
Summary: Natasha finds out Steve's an artist, and she has a request.





	Closer (The Spaces Between Us Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jayjayverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jayjayverse/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [jayjayverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jayjayverse/pseuds/jayjayverse) in the [2019_Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2019_Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness) collection. 



> Written based on [this (very NSFW) image](https://jayjayverse.tumblr.com/day/2018/03/16/). 
> 
> Jay, I love your art and I hope this captured your headcanon. 
> 
> Note: this version of 3490 takes inspiration from the rest of the Marvel Universe.

“You’re an artist?” Natasha asks.

Steve startles, he had been so engrossed in what he was doing that he hadn’t realized she was standing behind him. He tilts his head back on the couch and looks up at her leaning above him. She’s beautiful, her hair falling in messy curls around her face, just inches from Steve’s skin. “Just occasionally, you know, when I have some downtime.” He picks up the pad of heavy paper he had been using and lifts it up so she can see.

Without asking, Natasha snatches it out of his hand and steps far away that it’s out of Steve’s reach. “Wow…” Steve hears the pages of the notebook turning as she pages through. “You’re phenomenal. Really, quite the talent. That’s the Iron Man armor,” she says, pointing out a page where he’s drawn Iron Woman in flight and Iron Woman blasting a Doom Bot, and his favorite, Iron Woman sipping a vanilla shake through a straw.

“Thank you,” Steve says, and blushes, _really_ blushes, like he’s never spoken to a pretty girl before. Natasha makes him feel this way. She’s so brilliant and beautiful and kind, and--

Steve has only known her for a few months, but already he’s in love.

“No one ever told me Captain America is an artist.” Steve likes how she uses the present tense there, like he is a living, breathing thing and not a museum relic. He likes everything about her. She leans over him, her breath warm on his neck, and and fingers through the notebook looking for something in particular. Steve tries not to be affected by the way her proximity feels.  

 _She smells good_ , Steve still thinks, having much less control over his thoughts than he would like. “It’s a secret.” An unintentional secret, sure, but one none the less.

“Does that mean I’m special?” she asks, and if Steve twisted his head just a little he could kiss her. Steve’s saved from having to answer and revealing too much when she stops on a page in the notebook. "She must have been special, too.”

Steve’s mind goes blank for a moment and blushes for an entirely different reason than his crush. It’s a charcoal drawing of a naked woman, lounging on a threadbare cot. She’s as beautiful as the day Steve met her. “Her name is Chloe,” he begins to explain, as the embarrassment of being caught is replaced by nostalgia. “I met her in Paris, during the war, and she was my--”

“Lover?” Natasha supplies, not a joke or an accusation.

“No.” Steve takes the notebook from his hand and traces the edge of the drawing of his finger, just close enough that the charcoal smudges like a halo around her. “My friend. She was an artist, too. We had to lay low for a long weekend, and we passed the time by modeling for each other.”

Natasha leans back, enough that Steve misses the heat of her body, and says, “Are you telling me there are naked pictures of you out in the world?”

“I know there once were.” Steve leans back and looks up at her. She’s looking off into the distance, wrapped in a thought he doesn’t know, and he could kiss her if she’d let him.

She walks around the couch, still flipping through the pages, and sits down on the couch across from him. Steve hadn't been able to see how she was dressed before, but now he’s knocked speechless by the short red dress she’s wearing with a neckline that plunges in between her breasts.  And… no, it can’t be, Steve thinks, he hasn't seen a woman wearing stockings since he woke up, but she appears to also be wearing rich black ones that instantly draw Steve’s gaze. “I had a date tonight,” she says, clearly seeing him looking.

“Lucky man,” Steve responds, involuntarily, and feels embarrassed with what he’s sure is an unwanted comment.

Natasha looks down at the notebook, uncrosses her legs, and looks confidently into Steve’s eyes. “Not really, no. I called it a night just after dessert. He wasn’t really my type.”

 _Who is, then?_  Steve wants to ask, but he doesn’t say anything.

It’s like she hears the question anyway, because she continues, “I realized who I wanted as soon as I sat down to dinner, actually.” She leans over to hand Steve his notebook, turned back to the drawings of Chloe. “He’s an artist.”

Steve looks up from the drawing and back at her, staring out of the mansion's window onto Fifth Avenue. He finds he can’t talk, Natasha is just like that for him--she’s one of the first things that welcomed him to this time and the one thing that continually trips him up.

“I…” she starts, far more cautious that Steve’s used to her being, almost as if she’s nervous she could say something that Steve doesn’t want to hear. “I’m normally better at this.”

Steve’s mouth goes dry. The situation begins to become clearer, like a painting he already blocked but has just began to fill in the details. “Better at what?”

She stands up and bites her lip. “This,” is all she says before she turns around, reaches behind her, and unzips the back of her dress. Smooth skin slowly comes into view, one inch at a time, until the dress is parted in a deep V that stops just at the top of her lacy black underwear.

 _I think you’re very good at it_ , Steve thinks, and shuffles in the chair. He debates adjusting himself to hide his growing erection, but decides that would be more conspicuous.

The dress hits the floor with a shrug of her shoulders and she steps out of it, her bare stocking feet resting flat on the carpet. She’s wearing nothing but the stockings and panties; she has no bra, nor girdle, not even a piece of jewelry. The moment hangs there--her naked, and him uncomfortably hard--and Steve’s sure he should be worried about someone wandering into the mansion’s living room, but he’s honestly not. She turns her head over her shoulder and says, “I want you to draw me like one of your French girls.”

Steve blinks a couple times, debates pinching himself, and ultimately takes a deep breath and reaches out to the piece of charcoal he had set aside. “Uh--yes, of course, I could do that, if you want, that is,” he stammers, and this time can’t avoid shifting himself to the side in order to counteract the discomfort of his dick, hard and pressing, against the inseam of his pants.

Natasha turns around, slowly, cautiously, as if she’s waiting for a cue, and uses one arm to cover her breasts. Steve reminds himself that he’s a professional and ignores the impulse to stare as much as he can at her gorgeous legs. The artist in him is already noticing that the garters she's wearing add to the effect and draw the eye upward to the gentle V formed at the juncture of her legs. “Yes. I would like that very much. It could be my own personal collectible.” She must notice the way Steve’s too flustered to speak, because she looks down at herself and smiles before looking up and dropping her arm to her side. “How do you want me?” she asks.

Steve coughs. “I, uh--”

Her eyes go wide as she realizes what she’s just said. “Oh, fuck, no, I didn’t mean _that_. I just meant--” She stops and looks to the couch behind her before sitting down. “To draw. What would you like me to do?” She slowly leans back until she’s laying across the couch.

“That’s good,” Steve says, but it’s too fast, because as soon as he says it he notices something. “Uh, twist your hips closer to me--yes, perfect--now that leg, the one in the back--uh-huh--bring it forward so that it’s draped--exactly, just like that.” He studies her some more, trying to find the artist in himself and not just the horny man, and uses that to appreciate how her current position breaks up the lines of sight, drawing attention to her face and the long,smooth line of her stocking covered leg.

It’s the silence that reminds Steve he has to pick up his charcoal and draw something; that she won’t just lay here forever for him to gawk at. The charcoal feels awkward in his hand, and he has to go slow at first, trying to find the right edges in the medium and remind himself how the heavy paper catches the black color. “Are you blushing?” she asks, after a few minutes where Steve begins to find the dominant outline of her body and commits it to paper.

Steve’s _been_ blushing, so he knows it’s only an attempt at breaking the awkward silence. “I’m trying to concentrate,” he answers, both the truth and a lie, because he’s so wound up with desire he has to keep remind himself to keep moving his hand.

“Ah yes, the artist is hard at work.” It’s a light jab, meant to tease him. When he doesn't respond, she adds, “I’ll shut up.”

Steve’s eyes snap up from the notebook. “Please don’t. I like hearing you talk.”

The look she gives him is sexier than her request to draw her naked. Her face is relaxed, comfortable, but her eyes smolder; it’s the look he could imagines she gives when a she finds a man who's deserving of her company.

“If you want to, I mean. You could tell me about your date, if you want.”

She shakes her head and her curls move in a way Steve hopes he can capture in a still image. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

Steve’s relieved. “What about the armor? Have you made any new upgrades?”

That does it, apparently. “You sure know how to sweet talk a lady,” she says, and just keeps on talking about the new power source she wants to try out and her goal of breaking Mach-12 and her idea to incorporate better stealth tech into the suit. Steve doesn’t understand half of the things she says, but she says them with such excitement and passion, her chest moving up and down with her rapid breathing, and Steve finds his calm. His grip loosens and the lines flow from his hand more naturally, finding details about her he’s not sure he can even see, until he finds a point where he realizes there is no more ways he can improve on his drawing. He’s both incredibly proud of it, and aware it barely holds a candle to the real thing.

Because he doesn’t want to cut her off, he lets her finish her plans to redesign the mansion’s security system to cut in and ask her, “Would you like to see it?”

Natasha stands up and sits by his side, just like she would any other day, like she isn’t half naked, like they’re comfortable with this sort of intimacy already.  “She’s beautiful,” she says, but she doesn’t take the photo to look closer.

“ _Y_ _ou’re_ beautiful.” Steve has to say it. The drawing doesn’t even begin to capture her loveliness.

She blinks, possibly waiting to say something but can’t find the words, because she wraps a hand around the back of Steve’s neck and pulls him forward until she’s kissing him. Steve gets a few seconds to register that it’s even happening before she grabs his shirt and uses it as leverage to straddle his lap. His hands wrap around her waist, pulling her closer and closer until she’s flush with Steve’s body. She’s pulling his shirt out of his pants, slipping her fingers underneath, and sliding them across his skin. “Hmmm,” she mutters, right against Steve’s lips, “This is so much better than a picture.”

She tugs his shirt up until he has to lift his arms and take it off, all the while her hands keep moving, her fingertips finding every ridge of muscle his has and tentatively thumbing his nipple. Steve bucks up at the contact. He’s trying to chase some sort of friction, more sensation, and she grinds down against him in response. “Fuck,” he swears.

“Fuck, _yes_ ,” she responds, and grabs one of the hands Steve is using to hold her up so she can guide it towards her breast. Steve grips and rubs his thumb against her hard nipple before ducking down and taking it into his mouth. “Oh, yes, that’s so good.”

Steve moans, his mouth still on her, and he slips his hand even lower to cup her ass through the lace. She has her fingers wrapped in his hair, holding his head tight, and fuck, Steve’s barely going to last like this.

He pulls away, lifts her up so that she’s sitting on the couch, and drops to his knees in front of her.  Her eyes go wide with surprise as Steve reaches to tug down those panties before she swats away his hand. “Why don’t you keep them on?” she asks, and slides down on the couch while spreading her thighs so that Steve can lean forward and smell the damp patch of fabric separating him from her clit. He presses a soft kiss to the spot before using two fingers to slip aside the fabric. “What’re you waiting for?” she taunts, and gently lays her hand against the back of his head.

Steve smiles before he slips his tongue past her wet folds. She groans and slides even lower on the couch, making it all that much easier for Steve to move his tongue across her clit. He focuses on going slow, making his tongue soft and wide, and lets her rapid breathing guide him from there. His nose is pressed against her pubic hair, which smells musky and sweet and so much like _her,_  Steve’s scared he’ll come in his pants.

“Steve--fuck, yes, yes. Faster.” She rambles as the fingers in his hair tighten and she pulls his mouth even closer. Steve listens and picks up the pace. “Faster, yes, just like _that_ , don’t stop, please, please, I’m going to come--”

And she does, with a shutter that goes through her hips.

Steve wipes her wetness with the back of his hand while watching her chest heave with the effort of orgasm. “Wow. That was…” She taps on his shoulder, motions for him to come up and sit next to her. “Ok.”

“I hope that’s a good thing,” Steve says, his body taught with desire, his throbbing cock the only part of his body he’s really feeling right now.

“It’s the best thing.” She looks him over, her gaze a physical sensation over his bare chest and too-tight pants. “Now, what am I’m going to do with you?”

Steve loves the easy was she’s looking at him right now. “Ladies choice,” he responds, not having the sort of higher thought that makes being specific a possibility.

Natasha makes quick work of his jeans, unzippering them and pulling them past his knees with quick precision, leaving nothing on his body except his socks, his boxers, and his pants around his ankles. She rubs the heel of her hand against Steve’s erection before slipping her hand through the slit of his boxers and wrapping her hand around his cock. Steve briefly sees stars. “Fuck, Steve,” she mutters as she pulls it out and gives him some relief from the constriction. “You’re _huge_.”

“Is it a problem?” Steve hopes it’s not a problem.

“Hell, no. It’s just that--” She gives his dick a few delicate pulls and looks awed by the sight of his cock in her hand. “I’m going to be a little greedy.”

“Huh?” Steve asks, completely confused. “You’re the least greedy person I know.”

“You’re such a gentlemen,” Natasha mutters into Steve’s shoulder before moving his hand to the waistband of those black panties, urging his hand in. Steve does what he’s told, because _wow_ , how could he not, and loves how wet she is; he loves how it was _him_ who did that to her. “Yeah, that’s nice.” She doesn’t sound as frantic as before, though her breath still hitches as Steve's finger rubs her clit, just off center enough he hopes it isn’t too sensitive. “You’re too good.”

“Not true.” Steve’s not entirely upset by the circumstances he’s in, but he also feels a little too lucky, and he’s not sure what he’s done in his life to deserve Natasha’s wet clit against his fingers.

She kisses him, making it impossible for him to say anything else, and Steve moves his fingers even faster. She’s going to come twice tonight, he’s sure of it, and the thought just fuels more of the desire he’s trying to hold back as her hand works his cock. “Ok, I’m ready,” she announces.

Steve’s confused for about a second, and then she straightens out on her knees, tugs the crotch of her panties to the side, and lines him up before sliding down on his cock. She takes it slow, a long, drawn out moan making it’s way from her lungs. Steve gasps when she’s fully seated, she’s so fucking _tight_ and _wet_ , and he can’t think much of much more than the way he feels inside her.

“You’re so huge,” Natasha repeats before experimentally pushing herself up and then down again. “So--fucking--huge.” She does it again, faster now, and then finds a rhythm all of her own while Steve’s left to just stare at her bouncing on his cock as he grips her stockinged thighs. This… this is probably the hottest thing he’s ever seen. “I’m going to ride you into this fucking couch.”

Steve has no doubt she could do that, maybe for hours, but his orgasm is building far too soon. “We might not have...that sort of time,” he grunts, barely finding the air in his lungs to make words.

Of all things Natasha could do, she _laughs,_ and for a second Steve’s horrified- his body goes tight in all the wrong ways. “No, no, no, no.” She doesn’t stop moving, but she slows down enough to talk. “That’s not a problem.” She pops two fingers into her mouth before placing them on her clit, not very far from where Steve and her are joined.

Steve’s not sure if she’s ever going to stop surprising him. She rubs herself, somehow in time with the movement of the rest of her body, he can feel her fingers working, and Steve might just die because of Natasha Stark. “Is that--oh, fuck--good?” he feels compelled to ask.

“Uh-huh. God, Steve, you’re a--a--fucking marvel. Your cock, I fucking love it,” she pants as she frantically touches herself. “You going to come? Are you going to come for me?”

“Yeah.” Not a very descriptive answer, but it’s all he has.

She picks up the pace, rides him harder, makes him feel it. “Me-- _fuck_ \--too, I’m going to fucking come, on your hard, perfect, cock.”

“Yeah,” Steve repeats. He reaches for her bouncing breast and thumbs her nipple. “Please, yes--.”

Steve comes first, his release worth every moment he waited tonight. Natasha doesn’t stop moving, she just goes slower now, focusing more on her clit and less on her hips, and Steve rubs her nipple between two fingers, trying to give her all the pleasure he can even if he’s still too tired to do much else.

“Yes Steve, oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck,”_ she shouts when she finishes, louder and more forceful than the time before.

They sit there in silence, Natasha slumped over him, and still joined while they catch their breath, while Steve waits for something to happen. He’s not very sure what the protocol is in these situations.

“This is the first time _Titanic_ got me laid," Natasha slurs into his skin.

Steve lifts his head regretfully, and waits for more explanation. "Do you mean the ship?" he asks despite the nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he's missed an important detail.

"The ship?" Her eyes scrunch in the most adorable way. "Steve, have you ever seen  _Titanic_?"

"No?" 

Natasha straightens out her back and holds Steve's face with both of her hands. "STEVE! How have you not seen  _Titanic_? It's Jan's favorite movie. There have to be at least two copies in the mansion."

"Haven't really had the time, I guess." It's as good of an answer as any. Another would be  _I have no idea what you're talking about._

"So you didn't get the reference." She leans back and swoons, dramatically. " _Draw me like one of your French girls_ ," she says, affecting an over-the-top imitation of a British accent. "Oh, no. We have to watch it. Nothing explains the year 1997 better."

Steve laughs. "I'm free any time between now and the next A.I.M attack. Now would be great, actually." He looks down at the mess of sweat and wetness that's covering his skin and her underwear. "Actually, give me ten minutes to take a shower."

Natasha leans in and presses a gentle kiss to his lips. "Perfect. It's a date."


End file.
